


The Rise of Arthur

by thenaughtypixie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Avalon - Freeform, Camelot, Future Fic, Gen, Glastonbury, M/M, Merlin - Freeform, Merthur - Freeform, diamond of the day, merlin and arthur - Freeform, the rise of arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenaughtypixie/pseuds/thenaughtypixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has spent 1500 years waiting for Arthur.  The day he loses hope is the day everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rise of Arthur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riseofarthur.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=riseofarthur.tumblr.com).



> Written for a Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr and gifted to riseofarthur.tumblr.com   
> I wanted to write a story based around her URL and wanted to get across the massive expanse of time that Merlin had lived for. There are lots of time jumps and story threads which are deliberately unfinished because thats what Merlins life was like, always having to change and move on and I tried to convey how lonely he felt too. I really hope you enjoy reading it, I put my heart into what I write and I always do my best to check for errors but all mistakes are mine as this is un'betad. I just love writing for fun so if you enjoy reading my story thats a bonus for me!   
> I wasn't sure how to rate this as a couple of moments could be seen as slash if you squint really hard but I'll probably expand on those parts in another story!  
> If you enjoy this, please check out my other stories here!

The Rise of Arthur

Merlin

“Stay with me,” he whispered as he cradled his friend. And like the sun suddenly appearing through clouds in a stormy sky, the darkness faded, blue looked back at Merlin and the moment he wished for most had come true. Arthur had not left him. Not yet.   
Merlin's hand was still covering Arthur's wound, his friends hand still lay on top of his in reassurance, almost as if he were saying,“You don’t have to save me anymore… ”   
But suddenly Merlin noticed that he could feel Arthur's heart beating, the pounding getting stronger and stronger like the drums before an execution. But this was no execution, this was life.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore”, Arthur croaked as he craned his head down to look to where their hands lay.  
Merlin gently began to lift his hand, in turn taking Arthur's with his and they both looked to where the fatal blow that Mordred had struck lay. And it had gone. There was no blood staining Arthur's armour, no wound usurping his life, it had simply disappeared. 

Merlin let out a breath, smiling faintly, too afraid that this was some awful dream but Arthur smiled too, then looked at his friend, both bewildered. Slowly Merlin helped Arthur to sit up, Arthur still incredibly weak so it was an effort for him as he groaned to raise himself up.   
He sat there a moment, Merlin's arms still supporting his back, and took a few deep breaths. His vision was no longer hazy, he no longer felt like he was being inextricably pulled towards a fate he didn’t want. The lake of Avalon shimmered like a million diamonds scattered upon its surface. Only minutes ago Arthur had not been able to take in its beauty, its calmness and now…now…  
“Its your magic, I’m…I’m sure of it Merlin. It has to be.”  
“But I didn’t cast a spell, I just…”and Merlin's voice faded.  
Their eyes locked and they stayed there, lost, together, until Merlin broke a smile, his eyes shining and said in his familiar, kind, if slightly cracked voice, “OK dollophead, lets get you on your feet!”  
Arthur looked down and laughed, then as he turned to look at Merlin his laughter faded into the merest hint of a smile, speaking a thousand silent words.  
Merlin gripped Arthur's hand tightly as his friend gingerly stood, staggering slightly as if drunk from too much mead and finally, finally, Arthur was on his feet. 

Minutes before Merlin was losing his friend. Now he was standing before him more alive than ever. He didn’t understand it but he also didn’t want to explain it. He just wanted to stay there, by the lake, he and Arthur, with a friendship that would never be lost or torn apart, with no more secrets and no more sorrow.

Perhaps it was his magic, Merlin thought, as he glanced at his milky white slender hands that betrayed nothing magical about them.   
But as suddenly as his heart had started pounding, Arthur fell to his knees, his face grimaced in pain.

“No no no no!” Merlin shouted, quickly moving to try and catch his friend before he fell.   
But it was too late.

Merlin crashed to the ground on his knees in front of Arthur, desperately trying to hold his head upright.  
“I…I don’t understand” he whispered.  
With all his effort, Arthur raised his hands to hold Merlin's face and leaning forward he gently pressed their foreheads together and whispered, “Its my time…I…I know now. I have to…to go”.

And the touch that so warmed his face abruptly left. The body before him crumbled to ash and Merlin was left kneeling on the ground, alone, wordless, frightened.   
His breathing was rapid as he dug in the earth before him in a desperate attempt to somehow find Arthur but he knew, he knew he had gone and nothing could –

Fingers snapped in front of his face.  
“Hey, daydreamer, you’re missing all the fun” Chrissie shouted over the music blaring from the gramophone.  
Merlin snapped his head up to face his friend, knowing the look of concern on her face was due to his watery eyes.  
“Hey sweetie, what’s wrong?”  
The same dream that tormented him since the day Arthur died, the day Arthur couldn’t stay.  
But Merlin couldn’t tell her. He could never tell her. How could he? The conversation would be ridiculous.   
“I’m Merlin. I have magic. And I’m immortal. I failed my best friend and he died in my arms. Now I’m waiting for him to return. And I’ve been waiting 1400 years.”  
It sounded cold, detached and bitter. Yet he was just hurting.  
No he could never tell her, just like he could never tell any of the friends he made and lost over his many centuries of waiting. He was better off alone.  
Merlin scraped his stool back from the bar, downed his drink and muttered, “Its nothing” and made to leave the bar.  
As he walked away Chrissie followed and said loudly, “It’s the water isn’t it?”  
Merlin froze, blinking rapidly.  
“ I’ve seen you. I’ve seen the way you stare at that lake.” Her voice broke slightly.  
“There’s something in the water for you, isn’t there?” she finished quietly, with a sad curiosity.  
Merlin almost decided to turn but he didn’t and instead walked out into the chill night knowing that he was walking away from another friend.

Arthur

“Take my hand” she said gently.  
Arthur was bleary eyed, the last image he remembered was Merlin smiling at him asking him to stay before everything went dark and he was lost.  
But now, all he could make out were blurry images and corridors almost like those in the halls of Camelot but…different, ghostly.  
He reached out reluctantly and a hand took his to lead him away. He could not make out who it was and was lead like a child down misty passages and curling fog. As abruptly as the hand had taken his, it let go and Arthur suddenly became exhausted as if after a long battle. He could not stop his eyes from closing and before sleep claimed him he heard the same gentle voice speak.

“Sleep Arthur, and don’t be afraid. I’ll wake you when its time” and she placed a hand to his forehead as images of the green forests surrounding Camelot filled his mind, the crimson cloaks of the Knights of the round table, Guinevere ruling nobly in the throne, a flame, a dragon and then… then there was no more and Arthur slept.

Merlin

It was 200 years since Camelot fell.   
Guinevere, known in her later years as the warrior queen, had died alongside the knights defending Camelot from the betrayers of the outlying lands. She had ruled Camelot justly for many years and the Kingdom was known as the white palace, a place of safety and honour and King Arthur's values were loyally followed. But Merlin never went back.

He wandered the lands, finding shelter in forests, under trees, always moving, never finding a new home. Merlin was so reluctant to use magic that he barely incanted a spell for years, it felt like an iron blade twisting in his chest whenever he felt his magic swell up in him so he avoided it as best as he could, almost impossibly because it was a part of him as much as breathing. He looked down at his hands and sobbed. How could he ever use magic again? It had betrayed him.

But long before he became this lonely wanderer, in the days just after Arthurs death, Merlin stayed with his mother in Ealdor for a short while.   
When she saw him approaching, her sad eyes spoke softly, “I’m so sorry”.   
Merlin did not utter a word as he walked slowly towards her and then they embraced and he sobbed onto her shoulder, his tears dampening her thin linen dress. All she could do was hold him until he couldn’t even stand anymore and he collapsed to his knees and she fell with him, desperate to heal her son but knowing it was impossible. She held him until the sun went down and she could coax him inside.

He felt ashamed and empty for what purpose was his life without Arthur? He was meant to protect him and he died in his arms. Merlin could never go back. But he missed Camelot terribly. He wished he could comfort Gwen and tell her how sorry he was. He longed to sit down with Gaius and let his wisdom guide and comfort him. Merlin wanted to see the flags blowing high in the morning breeze, the sun illuminating the castle and know that Arthur would be proud to see Camelot flourish, but it hurt too much without the Golden King by his side. A part of Merlin was lost and he knew he would never set foot in Camelot again.  
Merlin helped with small jobs around the village, quietly planting crops whilst the other villagers looked on in wonder and sadness. They had heard tales of his bravery and magic, even rumours that the King himself had thanked him for his help in building Camelot and that a great dragon had visited Queen Guinevere. Merlin listened to the whispers and was scared someone might actually want to speak with him about what happened. Because Merlin knew he would never be able to talk about that day and he found himself itching to escape the small village and be alone once more. 

One morning after a restless sleep, his bedroom door creaked and Hunith peered in. She walked quietly across to his bed and gently sat beside Merlin.   
“I have something for you” she said, a small smile appearing on her face.  
Merlin sat up, frowned slightly as she handed him a piece of parchment with a quivering hand. It had the royal seal of Camelot upon it. Merlin gulped and pushed his mothers hand away.  
“I don’t want it.”   
He lay back down and turned on his side. Hunith sighed and placed the letter on the humble table beside his bed and left his room.  
Merlin spent the entire day busying himself with cooking, planting and feeding the animals, all the while the little red seal haunted him until he could bear it no longer. It was surely going to make him feel more ashamed than ever, it was surely going to say how could he let Arthur die? It was surely going to make him feel worthless.  
Merlin went into his bedroom knowing his mother was soundly asleep and he sat on the edge of his bed in the flickering candlelight. Carefully he picked the parchment up in shaking hands and slowly broke the seal with his finger. Unfolding the parchment, Merlin swallowed hard, his eyes looking above the top edge in case they fell onto the words too soon and he sat there for what felt like hours not wanting to read the first words. But eventually he did.

My dearest Merlin

It was Gwen. He recognized her elegant writing immediately. Merlin gulped, fighting back tears.

I hope this letter reaches you. I have sent out many across the lands in the hope of getting a reply.  
In my heart I knew you would stay with your mother again, you always spoke so well of her and she was so kind to me. But I know that you can’t be healed so easily, I understand more than ever all that you have done for Arthur and for Camelot. I began to understand too late just how much you cared for him. I too am grieving and will always grieve for him but I’m not alone and I’m so afraid you will close your heart to people now. Merlin we miss you.   
We have a place for you as Court Sorceror at the Round Table, if you’re willing to take it. We can think of no-one else we would rather have protecting Camelot than you, dear Merlin. You should see the halls of the castle now! Beautiful tapestries depicting magic and Camelot united at last and it saddens my heart to think you feel unwelcome because I know you Merlin, my friend. I know you did everything for Arthur. You did not fail. You kept Arthur safe for many years and I can’t begin to say how grateful we are for you. As Queen I have had many troubling decisions to make and have had to be strong before my time but I know that you have given me that courage and I just want to thank you in person.   
Merlin please come home. You have many friends and citizens eager to welcome you, our sorcerer, our friend.   
With deepest regards  
Gwen

Merlin's eyes filled with tears and he screwed the parchment up and threw it on the floor. How could she be so forgiving? How could she be so generous? Merlin didn’t understand. He deserved nothing and that night he decided would be the last he stayed in Ealdor.

Hunith watched Merlin gulp down his porridge at breakfast the next day and inbetween slurps she said quietly,”I think you should at least write back.”  
Merlin stopped eating, a knot forming in his stomach as he knew she was right, he couldn’t ignore Gwen's letter.   
Hunith looked at her son, tears forming in her eyes and she said quietly, “I know you’re leaving. Just promise me…”   
And she took his hand in hers but he didn’t look up.  
“Promise me Merlin, that you will not punish yourself. I am so proud of you and I’m…” she paused as her voice cracked, “…And I’m so sorry this happened.”  
Merlin swallowed back the tears, squeezing his mothers hand but still not looking at her as he stood and quietly went to his bedroom, Hunith watching him go, concern lining her kind face.

Gwen's letter was unfurled on the table and glancing at it once again, Merlin picked up his quill and parchment and began writing.

Dear Gwen  
Im sorry. And I can’t come back. But I promise you this, I will protect you all, be it from a hundred miles away, I will be there.  
Your friend  
Merlin

But his promise would be harder to keep than he first thought. As strong as Merlins magic was, nothing could prevent the fall of Camelot and he feared this more with every season that passed, every year he detached himself further from the one place that had truly become his home in his young life.   
And when he heard the rumours of the betrayers intent on claiming Camelot, anger surged deeply within Merlin and he trekked to the birthplace of magic , the crystal cave. He spent many days there, using the crystals as not just a vision of the future but a vision of now. 

Merlin used magic from so deep within he wondered if he would break apart and he suddenly thought of when he extracted the poison from Arthur all those years ago, never believing he would actually be able to save him…yet he did, his magic saved his friend that day but before he tormented himself with images of Arthur dead by the lakeside, Merlin believed in this moment, he could save Camelot. 

But the crystals did not show reflections of Merlin saving Camelot. Instead images of the Knights lying injured on the grounds of the castle tortured him. Fires burning in chambers and people running in chaos trying to escape the city. Huge vicious warriors swinging their axes wildly, man, woman, child it did not matter who stood before them they were relentless and this frightened Merlin more than anything. They did not want to claim the city. They just wanted to destroy it. 

And then Merlin caught a glimpse of the tapestries burning on the wall and saw something that made his whole world stop. He was depicted on the tapestry. Merlin had been sewn into the fabric, the name ‘Emrys’ beautifully placed above him, intricate designs of him saving Camelot, saving Arthur and also images of things that never happened. Merlin as court sorcerer, warlocks in the great throne room creating beautiful butterflies as Queen Guinevere and the Knights looked on in wonder, the people of Camelot applauding, Queen Guinevere knighting Merlin and then the last image…The colours in this were so vivid it almost hurt Merlins eyes and he knew then that magic had been used to enchant the thread, the golden thread used to depict King Arthur. Many years, centuries into the future, for he seemed unfinished, his body was a blur but it was him. The great Island in the middle of the lake rising behind him and a young Merlin by his side. And in that moment Merlin realized, Kilgharrah didn’t keep Arthurs destiny a secret. The rumours were true, he must have visited Gwen before he passed. 

Merlin swallowed hard realizing that this fight was doomed to fail. It hurt to see the flames licking the tapestry as it quickly blackened the beauty of the design until it fell in lumps of ash upon the cold stone corridor. 

Still the crystals spoke and Merlin noticed a figure with a sword halfway down the corridor. Dressed in armor he recognized her pretty curly hair and then saw her face for the first time in so many years, Gwen. 

Merlin's eyes watched her unblinking as she stood bravely confronting a warrior. Behind her, the Knights appeared, their red cloaks dancing with the gusts of wind that whistled down the corridor. Gwen''s determined demenour raised a laugh from the warrior in front of her, but the lines upon her face and the slight sadness in her eyes which were a duller brown than Merlin recalled did not speak of weakness but of a wisdom and strength. And almost as if she could feel Merlin watching her, she smiled gently, raised her sword in a slightly trembling hand and then ran towards the warrior, the knights following her lead as they all shouted, “For the love of Arthur!”   
And then the crystals dulled. Merlin fell back, his magic ceased as suddenly as a clap of lightening and he realised he could do no more to help his friends because they had already decided to sacrifice themselves for the future Arthur would bring. They knew. They knew they could never win this battle. But no-one could take the future which was promised. 

It was 200 years since Camelot fell.

Arthur

“Goodbye”.  
Arthur snapped his eyes open. The brightness forced him to cover his eyes quickly and he croaked, “Hello?”  
The kind voice he remembered from all that time ago spoke to him again.  
“You never said goodbye, did you?”  
Arthur frowned.   
Dragons.  
Magic.  
Camelot.  
Knights.  
Avalon.  
…  
MERLIN.

His heart pounded and a sickness rose in his chest.   
“How long have I been here?”  
She did not answer.  
“How long?” Arthur insisted, angry tears forming.  
The kind voice replied  
“It can’t be changed now. To tell you…I can’t”.  
Arthur stood up but could not even feel his legs.   
The girl saw him wobbling and put her arm across Arthur to support him.  
“You needed time to heal.”  
He looked at her for the first time as her pretty face was no longer blurry or dreamlike. She was just a girl. She stood before Arthur and smiled kindly.  
“He has waited for you. He never said goodbye. He waits for you still and that’s why I’m helping you escape.”  
“Escape?” Arthur looked confused.  
She looked down.   
“The river spirits will not be happy. They say it is not your time, that Albion is not yet calling for you Arthur. But I’ve heard Merlin calling for you. So many times. And I can’t bear it anymore.”  
“You knew Merlin?” Arthur questioned.  
The girl paused before whispering,“I loved him.”   
She laughed and said, “He never told you about me, did he?”  
Arthur shook his head.  
Holding out her slender hand she said, “Freya.”  
Arthur took it gently.   
“So magic wasn’t the only secret he hid from me!” he grinned. 

But then Arthur fell flat. She died. Everyone Merlin loved, died. And although Arthur was aware that time was cruel and would have claimed Hunith and Gaius long ago, maybe, just maybe he could bring Freya back because she was here, in Avalon, being healed too.

“Come back with me,” Arthur said, already forming the idea in his mind but before he could speak anymore she looked down again.  
“I can’t. I helped Merlin long ago. I gave him Excalibur back to help save Camelot. I used my chance to save you and your kingdom and your people. I can never go back to him.”  
Silence lay between them until she spoke softly  
“But we can help Merlin. We can end his grief. You have no idea Arthur, no idea how long…” her voice faded as she felt Merlin's pain.  
“Then I must get back to him. Now.”

Freya beamed and taking Arthur's hand once more, they ran through the mists, sometimes clearer images shone through, mostly of the years in Camelot, the magic Merlin used to save him, and Arthur, more determined than ever, felt an inextricable pull to get back to his friend, to thank him, to never stop, to never leave him.   
And so they ran.

Merlin

To be immortal is to be cursed. It is not a gift nor a privilege. Neither is it something to envy or wish for because to be immortal means to be alone.

Sometimes old man, sometimes young. But never exactly the Merlin he was. Never that Merlin. And he knew he would never be him until Arthur came back. He tried once, to make his appearance and age just the way he was before Arthur fell, but his magic refused him and from that day he knew that when he felt a tingling he could not explain, when his hands began to change with no instruction from him, it would be his magic returning him to young man, the spirited young Merlin with Arthur by his side.

Some days he was so weary he wondered how he could keep on waiting when his bones felt like they were being chiseled away to dust and his eyes no longer saw any vibrancy in the World, because just looking like a young man meant nothing. He was old, no matter what appearance he decided upon. And he hated looking at that grey beard, that craggy wrinkled face that spoke truer about his burden than the words from his mouth ever could so more frequently Merlin chose to look young, even though he was crumbling inside.  
And he never thought about time. Never counted the days or months or years or centuries. It was many lifetimes but one lifetime. It was one hope that kept him going, one tiny flickering candle threatening to go out every day but he would hold his hands close to it, protect it, until it warmed him once more and he could carry on. Because of all the things that died in Merlin in his long long life, for all the friends he made and lost through war or age, death could not take hope. So it always remained. 

When he finally settled in Glastonbury after 1000 years of wandering, he decided then that he would never stray. He was tired of being homeless. His home was always Arthur so why not live next to Avalon? It was not as hard as it was to face the lake as it was in the beginning because the raw pain had subsided, the feeling of failure died long ago and now Merlin only saw hope on the shimmering water.   
Each day he passed the lake he would stand for a few minutes and watch for the ripples in the water to just be that bit bigger than usual but when they remained calm, he would say quietly to himself, “It will be tomorrow”. 

And he’d make his way to his humble little house in the Somerset countryside.

It had been abandoned long ago and Merlin claimed it for his own. On a tiny shelf Merlin kept his greatest possessions. A drawing of his mother that a young artist had gifted him on a visit to Ealdor, the magic book that Gaius gave to him upon his arrival in Camelot, barely readable now, even when preserved with Merlins magic, it had lost its lustre but still he treasured it and lastly, the golden sigil that Arthur once gave to him. The bird was rubbed down so much that only Merlin remembered what it looked like. To anyone else it would just be a gold coin.

There was one other thing that Merlin kept. And he had hundreds of them. Piled on the floor, under his bed, in the wooden trunk, they were scattered everywhere. Books. His life. He wrote down everything that happened to him. He began just weeks after Arthur's death and he never stopped writing after that. The days he spent with Arthur were vibrant in his mind and he could go there whenever he wanted. He didn’t have to write those years down. But everything after was a blur, a secondhand adventure that although he didn’t want to forget, he didn’t appreciate at the time and he knew that when Arthur returned, he would want to know that Merlin had lived, he never had to know that Merlin was only living for the day he would come back.

But the lake drained. And Merlin could no longer look for the ripples upon the water. He could only look towards the Tor. 

He walked through Glastonbury as an old man. The candle snuffed out.   
People sat in the town centre with flowers in their hair, singing, happy, alive. Shops with pretty jewellery attracted tourists, the silver dragons and sword necklaces glinting in the summer sun. Glastonbury was a colorful place full of mystery and humour. Even the local bars would have signs saying, ‘Hippies only past this point!’.   
Merlin was well known around the town, a familiar face who may crack a smile if you directed one towards him, but more often than not, he would walk with his head bowed, seemingly in a rush but never going anywhere. 

Once, he heard a small child exclaim,“Mummy, why does Santa look so thin and sad?”  
The childs mother said quietly,   
“That’s not Santa sweetheart! He’s…” and she looked towards Merlin as he was walking away.  
“He’s kind but lonely.”   
She watched him turn the corner of the street before continuing.  
“And I think he’s someone very special indeed and next time we see him, we could smile, and maybe he won’t feel so sad?”  
The child nodded enthusiastically as the mother took her hand. She would never forget what Merlin did for her when she was a little girl.   
She had been sat in the town with her parents, holding a little star wand looking glum as they said angrily,“Sarah, fairies do not exist, you were never going to find one here, grow up!”   
Sarah pouted and caught Merlin's eye sat on the bench opposite. He smiled gently, raised his eyebrows as he gestured her to look under the bench where she was sat. Sarah hung upside down and when she came back up, she was flushed and beaming for she had seen 3 little fairies dancing underneath the bench. They faded as quickly as they appeared, much like Merlin who was no longer sat on the bench opposite. Sarah believed that day that she had just met a wizard and she would never forget him.

But Merlin began to forget. And it scared him. Because he wanted to lock his memories of Arthur away where time and grief and age could not touch them. But their clammy hands were reaching out for those memories and if they took them, Merlin would truly have nothing, just the waiting.

And so when he passed by the tor everyday, he would say, quietly, “It will be tomorrow”. 

And whether he believed it or not he had no choice but to say it. 

And sometimes if he was lucky, he would see a brightly lit apartment, the sun streaming in through the window. He would be THAT Merlin, the Merlin before Arthur died. And Arthur would be golden again. Young and golden. And there would be technology and confusion and laughter. But also no more secrets, no more grief, just them, always. Then the vision would fade and Merlin would be staring at the Tor, saying those words he no longer believed in.

“It will be tomorrow.”

And that’s when Freya knew. He had lost hope. And Merlin was calling for Arthur.

Arthur

It was a strange sensation, like running on smoke, weightless and frightening but they never stopped. Freya gripped Arthurs hand tightly as they ran and ran, ghostly arms reaching out to them from every side but Freya just said breathlessly, “Don’t touch them Arthur, they’re not ready to leave, they cannot come with us,” and she ran faster, her hand almost slipping from Arthur's.

Arthur tried not to look at them, he just focused on Freya's dark wavy hair bouncing ahead of him when suddenly she came to a halt and he almost crashed into her.  
“Here”, Freya said in awe, “Its here.”  
But there was nothing in front of them.  
Freya caught her breath before continuing.   
“Can’t you see it?” She said unevenly.  
Arthur frowned.  
“There’s nothing there!”  
She pointed again.  
“There! The mountains, the wild flowers in summer, the lake, that’s my home, I can see it. That is the way out.”  
She pushed Arthur forward.  
“You have to think of home,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.  
“You have to remember and wish to be home and…” she paused.   
“And then you’ll see it.”  
Arthur, even after everything he had seen, was not easily convinced and with a sigh he looked at this nothingness before him.  
Suddenly, the Villea, the river spirits called out to them.  
“Arthur, you cannot leave Avalon. You have not been called home. You should sleep, our once and future King, until Albion calls for you.”  
“Ive slept enough”, Arthur says through gritted teeth, “Albion may not need me yet, but I know someone who does.”  
And suddenly great white towers appeared through clouds. Camelot. Arthur gulped. Freya took his hand and squeezed it.  
“It’s a trick, Arthur, they’re trying to make you stay, make you tired, you have to fight it, you have to see home.”

And he closed his eyes tightly and when he opened them he saw Merlin. But…different. He was opening something metal and laughing at Arthur.  
“It’s called a can opener, you clotpole!” and he covered his face with his hands as he laughed so hard watching Arthur attempt to open the can, his tongue stuck out at the side in concentration.  
Merlin wore a strange kind of clothing, a red top with short sleeves and funny looking blue trousers and there was a square box in the background with little people in it and and –

The Villea send gently, “Its too much for you Arthur, you’re not ready for this life. Stay here and dream of Camelot until you are needed.”  
Freya shook her head.   
“NO!” and she pushed Arthur further forward.  
“Merlin has called him home countless times, he needs him.”   
Tears started in her eyes.  
“If he can be called home by Albion, why not by his friend who has protected it all these years?”  
The Villea remained silent until they said forcefully,   
“Freya, if you do this you can never go home. Only one can leave the gateway.”  
She turned towards them and said shakily,“I love Merlin more than I want to go home.”  
And she smiled at Arthur.

Arthur looked back towards the nothingness and this time he saw Merlin standing by the Tor, saying something that Arthur could barely make out.   
“I can’t hear him…I…”  
But Freya pushed him one more time and said, with shining eyes, “You’re home Arthur!”  
And the last thing he saw was Freya’s sad longing smile as she reached towards the nothing.

 

Merlin and Arthur

Merlin stood by the Tor, a cold breeze chilling him but he would not leave. Not yet. It felt different today somehow. Sometimes he missed seeing the lake, glimmering under the sun or under the moon. For it didn’t matter what time he passed as long as he saw it everyday. Avalon.

The chill picked up for it was a cold December evening and Merlin rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to try and warm up. He refused to use magic on such trivial things. Stars scattered the indigo sky like diamonds, glinting and shimmering but Merlin wished he was looking upon a high summer sky, wispy clouds and birds flying against blue because he felt he could wait that bit longer if he didn’t feel so cold, there was…something about today that felt different. His eyes began to sparkle, he almost felt the same enthusiasm and spirit he had when he was…when he was that Merlin. But then it faded because how many nights and days must he have spent saying those four words over and over? He lowered his head, slowly looked to the side and said quietly, “It will be tomorrow.”

The icy wind made Merlin's hands tingle. The cold seemed to bite at his fingers with sharp teeth and he reluctantly turned away from the Tor, holding his hands together as the tingling increased. Another day over. Another one ahead. 

Merlin walked slowly away, muttered again, “It will be tomorrow”, and kept twisting his hands together, they were quite painful now. But Merlin had been wrong. It will not be tomorrow. Because it was not the cold that hurt his hand. 

It was the ironing out of the wrinkles, the disappearance of everything old man beneath that frayed woollen glove.  
It will be today.


End file.
